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So, ye may doucely fill a Throne,

For a' their clish-ma-claver :

There, Him * at Agincourt wha thone,

Few better were or braver ;

And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir Johnt,

He was an unco shaver

For monie a day,


For you, right rev'rend O

Nanc sets the lawn sleeve sweeter,

Altho'a ribban at your lug

Wad been a dress completer: As ye disown yon paughty slog

That bears the Keys of Peter, Then, fwith! an' get a wife to hug,


* King Henry V. + Sir John Falstaff, Vide Shakespeare.

Or trouth! ye'll stain the Mitre

Some-luckless day.


YOUNG royal Tarry Breeks, I learn,

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Ye've lately come athwart her;
A glorious Galley *, stem and stern,

Weel rigg'a for l'enus barter;
But first hang out, that she'll discern

Your hymeneal charter,
Then heave aboard your grapple airn,
An', large upon her quarter,

Come full that day.


YE lastly, bonie blossoms a',

Ye royal Lasses dainty,


Alluding to the Neirs-parer account of a certain Royal Sai

lor's amour,

Heav'n mak you guid as weel as braw,

An'gie you lads a plenty:

But fneer na British boys awa',

For Kings are unco scant ay ; An' German Gentles are but sma',

They're better just than want ay

On onie day.


God bless you a'! confider now,

Ye're unco muckle dautet;

But ere the course o' life be through,

It may be bitter fautet:

An' I hae seen their coggie fou,

That yet hae tarrow't at it;

But or the day was done, I trow,

The laggen they hae clautet

Fu' clean that day.





THE fun had clos'd the winter-day,

The curlers quat their roaring play,
An' hunger'd Maukin taen her way

To kail-yards green,

While faithless snaws ilk step betray

Whare fhe has been.

The Threler's weary flinging-tree,

The lee-lang day had tir'd me ;
And when the Day had clos'd his e'e,

Far i' the West,


* Duan, a term of Ossians for the different divisions of a dia gressive Poem. See his Catb-Loda, vol. 2. of M.Pherson's Translation.

Ben i' the Spence, right penfivelie,

I gaed to rest.

THERE, lanely, by the ingle-cheek,
I fat and ey'd the spewing reek,
That fill’d, wi' hoaft-provoking smeek,

The auld, clay biggin; And heard the restless rattons squeak

About the riggin.

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All in this mottie misty clime, ,

1 backward mus'd on wälted time,

How I had spent my youthfu' prime,

An' done nae-thing,

But ftringin blethers up in rhyme

For fools to fing.

HAD I to guid advice but harkit, I might by this hae led a market,

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